Date: Sat, 29 Oct 2005 00:48:33 -0700
From: Darc Blackwind
Subject: TRANSGENDER ARCHIVE Fallen Angel by Darc Blackwind Chapter 12
Hello, friends at Nifty!
Again, it's that time where I visit my parents and have internet access, so
you know what that means! Another several chapters to Fallen Angel have
been edited and revamped for your reading pleasure! Hope you enjoy chapter
12!
As always, comments and questions are never denied. If you have anything
you wish to add or otherwise, please contact me at arboc969@hotmail.com
Darc
Chapter 12: The Poem
The three arrived at school at around six thirty, for they stopped at a
McDonalds to get breakfast. This left Cal forty-five minutes to show Althea
around and get her acquainted with the school. "So, you got your schedule
with you, love?" Cal asked as they entered the double doors to the Gym
Building. He walked then to G1, where Anthropology was held.
Althea shook her head. "They didn't give me my schedule. . . ." she said
distractedly. She was busy admiring the artwork on the wall, which had a
series of demons and angels fighting against one another. "What is this?"
Cal smiled, walking up beside her and sliding an arm around her
waist. "Well, love, a friend of mine is a fabulous artist. He dropped out
of school last year, though, and this mural is his legacy. . . . He painted
it after reading Of Light and Darkness." He pointed to a blond male with a
muscular body that was wearing a black cloak and wielding a ninja sword
against a particularly nasty-looking demon. "That is me, or my character in
the novel, Christopher. Can you see the resemblance?"
"Yes. Who're you fighting off, Cal?" Miranda asked, walking up to them and
delicately touching the mural with her fingertips.
"Well, that demon there is, Rick told me, supposed to represent all the
struggles I'm about to face this next year." Seeing their questioning
looks, Cal added, "Rick was also involved in the Battle of Aukos last
year. He was . . . one of the ones I had to see die. . . . He was a good
man and a powerful seer. . . ."
"Dear lord. . . ." Althea gasped. She saw a demoness flying next to the
character Christopher, and it bore a striking resemblance to herself, from
the facial features to the black robe and golden sash. "Th, that's
me. . . ."
"I know. . . . Rick told me that I would meet someone not of this realm in
this school year and that I would once again have to take up arms against
evil. . . . Who would have thought he'd be telling the truth. . . ."
They stood there, admiring the mural, for about a half-hour, each not
saying anything, but in his or her own way, contemplating what was
said. "Hello, Calvin. . . ." a harsh voice hissed from behind them. Cal
turned to see who said that. Evan and Stitch stood there, both glaring at
him with the utmost repulsion.
"Hello, ladies. How're you doing?" Cal asked easily, seeing a tremor of
disgust ripple across Evan's buzzard-like face. He admitted that seeing
such open anger he caused made him feel better.
"Pretty decent. You?" Stitch asked, a bittersweet tone to his voice.
Cal grinned. "Well. So, what brings you here?"
"No reason. I'm just curious why you brought your girlfriend to school
today. I dragged Evan along just because I thought it'd be healthy for
him." He looked at Althea and winked. "So, how do you like this school, you
sweet li'l thing?"
Feeling as though she would vomit, Althea took her mind off of the fact
that Stitch was hitting on her and walked up to him, slapped him hard
enough that his glasses flew off his face ten feet away, and growled,
"Don't you ever look at me that way, you bastard!"
Stitch walked over to his glasses and picked them up, put them on his
face, and walked back over to where they stood. "What a feisty little bitch
you are, `Ally'!" he growled, a demonic glint in his eyes. "Listen to me,
Althea. You do that one more time and I will gut you and feed your
intestines to your fudge-packer of a boyfriend!"
Cal stepped forward, a furious glare on his face. "It would be wise of you
to not speak that way to my girlfriend," he whispered, his eyes flashing.
"Or what? Are you going to slap me too?" Stitch asked peevishly.
Cal raised his fist and was about to uppercut him in the solar plexus when
Mr. Sandvik, the Anthropology/Sociology teacher, walked through the
doors. "What's going on here?" he asked mildly, seeing the tension burn the
air between the two men. Sandvik was in his early fifties, with
salt-and-pepper hair, a small mustache, and a western-style beard. He stood
at about five feet seven inches, and was slightly overweight.
"Nothing, sir," Evan replied, walking through the doors, an almost
tangible viridescent aura of hatred around his being. "We were just
leaving." With that said, he and Stitch left and went to their classes.
"What was that all about, Cal?" Sandvik asked curiously as he led them
into classroom G1. "It looked like you and James were going to get into a
fight there. . . ."
"Ah, Stitch has always been a bit touchy about how women treat
him. . . . Anyway, let me introduce your new student, sir!" he gestured
happily to Althea. "Her name is Shira Makoto, and she's a foreign exchange
student from Japan." He looked at Althea and grinned. "Shira, let me
introduce Mr. Jakob Sandvik, a good teacher of many subjects, but
particularly in those with the social sciences."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Shira. I hope you like it here, because
we're going to be studying many fascinating things about the oriental
cultures and how they developed differently from the western, European
ones. Of course, you probably don't need any teaching on the matter, eh?"
Jakob asked politely, outstretching his right hand to shake hers. She took
his scarred, callused hand gently with hers and shook it delicately.
"Ah, you flatter me, sir. I'm only here because I'm so good at the
language arts. . . . I can speak Japanese, English, French, Spanish,
German, Russian, Babylonian, and a dozen different ones fluently. So, here
I am. . . . Where will I be sitting?"
Mr. Sandvik assigned her a seat in the opposite side of the room as Cal,
and before he could protest this abominable seating arrangement, the bell
rang and the kids poured into the class, taking their seats. Miranda bade
them farewell and dashed to her classroom before the second bell rang.
The morning announcements were heard over the intercom and then,
Mr. Sandvik walked to the front of the class and smiled. "Good morning,
Class. We have two new people enrolled in our class." He then gestured for
Althea and a new girl to walk up to the front of the class. "Let me
introduce Shira Makoto, the foreign exchange student you were all told
about." He gestured to Althea. He then looked to the other new girl. "And,
this is Tawny Jameson. Shira, why don't you tell us about yourself?"
Trying with all her might not to blush from all fifteen students staring
at her curiously, her eyes met with Cal's and he nodded. Feeling slightly
more encouraged, Althea began, "Hello, everyone. As Mr. Sandvik said, my
name is Shira Makoto, but you may simply call me Shira. I came from Okinawa
because of my mastery of the languages." She shrugged and chuckled. "They
become so easy when you master Babylonian!" Sandvik laughed quietly,
understanding that all languages were spawned from the Tower of Babel in
the Holy Bible, but the blank faces on the rest of the class signified that
they didn't understand. "Never mind. . . . Anyway, I was born in Kumamoto,
Kyushu, and moved to Okinawa, where I learned the languages. That's what
got me sent here in the first place. I hope we can become good friends!"
"Thank you, Shira," Sandvik said politely, winking at her. Althea returned
to her seat. "Now then, Tawny, why don't you tell us about yourself?"
Tawny was beautiful, to say the least. She had curves in all the right
places, long, slender legs that went on for miles, and a beautiful,
somewhat mischievous-looking face with high cheekbones and sensuous, full,
pouty lips. Her golden-blond hair spilled down over her shoulders like a
waterfall of pure sunlight, and she stood at about five feet six inches
tall. Her eyes were cat-like and alert, and she didn't seem abashed in the
least to Sandvik's inquiry. She wore a tight-fitting black t-shirt that was
embroidered with the word "Angel" in glittering letters and hip-hugging
blue jeans. She smiled as her and Cal's eyes met. "Hello, there! My name's
Tawny, and I'm from Clearwater, Florida." She sighed and thought about how
to answer the rest of the question. "Well, what I like to do is write
poetry. What can I say? It helps me figure things out!" She shrugged and
giggled giddily. "Anyway, I also like to write short stories. Do any of
you?"
"Well, one of our students does," Sandvik said happily, gesturing to
Cal. "He is always writing when we take breaks. Please continue,
Tawny. Have you had anything published?"
Tawny shook her head. "Nope, but I'm still trying. . . ." Her eyes met
with Cal's once more and she then said, "Well, I hope we can be friends!"
And, with that said, she looked back at Sandvik and said, "I need a place
to sit, Mr. Sandvik. . . ."
Sandvik nodded and set her in front of Cal. She looked back at him and
smiled. "So, you like writing too, do you?"
Cal nodded and smiled. "Yes. I like writing science fiction and
fantasy. It's so much more fun than writing in reality. That's why I write
in the first place, to escape reality. How about you?"
"Well, my reason isn't that deep. . . . It's something to do to pass the
time, really. . . ." Tawny smiled genially and extended a hand. "What's
your name?" she asked as Sandvik walked back up to the front of the class
and got them started on an assignment on the cultural differences between
medieval Europe and Medieval Asia.
"I'm Calvin Lillehammer, but you can call me Cal. So, Tawny, how do you
like it here in Nevada?" Cal asked as he grasped her hand gently and shook
it.
"I dunno," Tawny said as she handed Cal a stack of papers labeled "Early
Cultural Differences: Europe vs. Asia". She sighed as she wrote her name in
big, loopy cursive letters on the upper right-hand corner of the
worksheet. "It's too brown!"
Cal laughed, despite himself. "You said it!" he chortled, signing his name
on his worksheet. "So, want to become friends?" he asked curiously, looking
up at her after he was finished.
She smiled. "Sure, Cal. I like you, and I'd like to read what you've
written!" She winked at him, making him blush involuntarily, an action that
was really quite difficult to do. "Us authors have to stick together, don't
we?"
* * *
The class finished and Cal met up with Althea in the hallway outside the
classroom as he waved goodbye to Tawny. "Who's that that you were talking
to, love?" she asked curiously.
"Her name is Tawny. She too is an author," Cal said as he slid an arm
around her waist and held her closely. "So, how do you like high school
life, love?"
"It's alright," she said, sighing. "I just wish Mr. Sandvik didn't place
us so far apart. . . ."
Cal kissed her forehead. "Don't worry about it. I'll never stop thinking
about you."
Tawny ran up to the two quickly. "Hey, Cal, I was wondering if you'd like
to read this poem that I wrote just before I left Clearwater!" she said,
slightly out of breath. Looking at Althea, she smiled and winked at
her. "Hi, there! You're Shira, right?" she extended a hand and shook
hers. "Nice to meet you. So, you and Cal boyfriend and girlfriend?"
Althea nodded, winking at her as well. "Yep, Cal's my knight in shining
armor. So, you like it here?"
Tawny shrugged. "It's okay, I suppose. . . . I'm still a bit homesick for
Clearwater, though. . . ."
"Well, all the more reasons to make friends to help you to adjust, then!"
Althea said humorously. "How `bout we meet at lunch?"
"I've second lunch. . . ." she said distantly. "And I'm sure you guys have
first lunch. . . ."
Cal nodded. "Yes, we do. But, how about we meet up in the parking lot
after school and go do something?"
"Sounds like a plan!" Tawny said, smiling. "Well, I gotta go find out
where M37 is, so you two have a lovely day!" And, with that said, she left
them, handing Cal her poem. It was typed up and the paper was rather
crinkled and lined, and there were spots that were discolored, as though
she was reading it in the rain at one point.
Looking up at Cal, Althea sighed. "Well, Cal, I know where my next class
is, so I'll see you at lunch, my love. . . ." And she walked out of the
building, leaving Cal walking to Honors English IV alone.
The walk seemed abnormally long, without the two friends he now had in
Anthropology class. He used to have no friends in that class, so it was
quite a switch. He walked into the English classroom and took his seat next
to the teacher's desk. Mrs. McNally stood at the head of the classroom,
smiling. She was a middle-aged woman, with graying blond hair and a
slightly overweight disposition. She had been one of Cal's favorite
teachers, and Cal was one of her favorite students.
"What's with the long face, Calvin?" Mrs. McNally asked kindly, looking
down at him.
Cal looked up and smiled. "Must be the weather, I guess. . . . Whenever
there's a hint of rain, it always acts like a depressant for me. . . . So,
what are we doing today, Mrs. McNally?"
"Ooh, you'll love me for this!" she said excitedly. "We're doing
. . . VERB CONSTRUCTION!!!"
Groaning, Cal looked down to the poem that Tawny gave him. Why is she so
familiar to me? he thought as he opened the crinkled sheets of paper bound
together by hot pink yarn. On the upper right-hand corner was the title and
information: "My Fallen Angel, a poem by Tawny Jameson. For Lydia." He
began reading,
Evanescent as a dream,
You disappeared before mine eyes,
Thine blood smeared as sanguine sheen,
A part of me dies.
Though the moon
Waxes and wanes,
Ne'er shalt thine memory,
For it is as constant as the spring rains.
Looking to the crimson sunset
I am eternally in thine debt.
Raven-haired savior, I only regret
That we had never met.
Every moment we shared,
Every laugh, every sigh,
Are my most treasured possessions.
Watching you vanish, I begin to cry.
Thine pale flesh
Devoid of ardency,
You deserved so much yet asked so little. . . .
Thine love was of boundless sufficiency!
Stunning and delicate
As a solitary rose.
If only I could move time, I'd halt
The pain which doth make thy blood flow.
So many words
I still needed to say
Before thy departure. . . .
Before these storm clouds so horribly grey. . . .
Gentle seraphim of the night,
Why didst thou have to die?
Thy life so fresh,
I wasn't ready to say goodbye. . . .
I would have died a thousand times
In thy place, if only thou had asked.
Evanescent siren of blood,
This nameless evil kills all and saves me for last!
Without thy beauteous smile
I feel so cadaverously alone. . . .
Please, lord of the Earth
Vanish what is now shone
A broken dream
I am torn asunder
In witness to those sanguine stars
I worshipped under.
An ashen zephyr
Hails this scorched earth
And now thy everlasting grace
Heralds my rebirth.
For once upon a time
Thine infinite love ne'er led me astray
For whence I gaze into thine eyes
Though lost, I remember the way.
Now, I pace,
Alone,
In this place of despair,
Overcome by woe that I've never outgrown.
Staring upon the edge of my knife,
I find you gazing back at me with a smile.
We will be together again soon, my love,
For you will always be my fallen angel.
Cal looked up from the poem, his face pale. Gee. . . . That poem sounds
familiar. . . . he thought as he folded it up and stored it in his
backpack. The person in that poem sounds like I did before Althea came into
my life. . . . Cal sighed and let the minutes tick by. He wanted to reach
out to Tawny, for if that poem was so beautiful, she must have been a
tortured soul at one point or another. Never again will I be lonely. Not so
long as I have friends like Althea and Miranda and . . . Tawny. . . . He
sighed again and began writing down in his notebook a poem to return to
her. He wrote: "The Rose, by Calvin Lillehammer. For Tawny."
"Lost in the void
The darkness of my life
Shrouds everything from my eyes.
An incomprehensible strife. . . .
Darkening skies,
The horizon fire-paved
The acrid smell of smoke,
And a barren wasteland moon-light bathed.
That wasteland is my life.
A plagued life, a horrendous nightmare.
Cadaverous solitude. . . .
This reality is too horrible to bear. . . .
A solitary rose,
Wafting gently in the soft autumnal zephyr,
Lands in a pool of blood
Of those who prosper.
To see the world
In distant fire. . . .
Such a blackened place. . . .
Nothing here but distant thunder.
In the ashen wind of the dead,
Overcome by woe. . . .
This world is for all those damned. . . .
Darkness begins to grow. . . .
In this abyss,
I see the wilted ending of a single flower,
A black rose consumed by fire
Its charred petals wilting lower and lower. . . .
Caustic haven for the damned
Destroys all the beauty lying in its path.
Evanescent like the smell of death,
Indeed the world has loosed its wrath.
Its targets matter not,
For this silent wraith sees all as one,
And one as all, everything begins to die,
Wilting like the rose in the setting sun.
Beauteous damnation,
All fractures in its path
Like shattered glass,
And I was the first to witness the blood bath.
The world is gone,
Just another wasteland
Bathed in rancorous moonlight,
A sun-parched desert of rock and sand.
Bleeding upon the earth,
I see the darkened skies,
Fire-paved and lightning-bathed
Through lucid eyes.
These wounds clouding my mind,
I hear cries of pain as the breeze bellows.
I can only stand by and watch the death of the world
All because of the death of a rose."
With that finished, he vowed he'd give her his poem when the day
ended. Smiling, Cal sat back and let the verb construction lesson commence.